


Breaking Point

by gatekat



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-11
Updated: 2011-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-29 14:34:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/688076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatekat/pseuds/gatekat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Megatron thought to use a bit of information gleaned from Starscream's memory banks during a particularly vicious beating to taunt Prime. He had no grasp of what he was about to break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking Point

**Author's Note:**

> For a pairing I can't see or understand for the life of me, I'm quite pleased with the results. Begun as a prize-fic. Finished because I'm a masochist like that. Never again will I take on a pairing/setup I can't understand.

"Oh Prime," Megatron's voice held a smug amusement he rarely expressed when facing off against his mortal foe on the open planes near the Ark. "I brought you a gift," he sneered, catching the attention of everyone not currently fighting for their life. "I thought you might appreciate knowing your lover will be waiting for you in the Well."

His laughing statement brought the entire field to a standstill, Autobot and Decepticon alike staring at the mangled remains he tossed at Prime's feet. Megatron's glee-filled optics took in the shock it caused in his opponent and the Autobot ranks. That it caused nearly as much shock to his own forces was far less of a concern.

Only three mechs were moving now, all three making their best time to Prime and the critically injured.

While Prime stared at the stasis locked form at his feet, every Transformer did a head count of mostly-white mechs that left the Autobots confused and the Decepticons disturbed. They all came up with only one mech that it _could_ be that _wasn't_ on the field and _should_ be.

_Starscream_

"What, did you think you could hide your affair forever?" Megatron cooed at the still stunned Prime, who had knelt to touch the barely-living body. "I wonder, if I let you live, how will your troops react to it?"

"You Prime, move," Swoop put a strong hand on Optimus' shoulder before he'd fully recovered from the hardest feet-first landing of his short life and tugged the larger mech away. "Me Swoop take him Starscream to him Ratchet," he insisted, reaching to pick up the shattered Seeker without any care for the rest of the field.

It made him the only one who didn't see Optimus Prime's vaunted patience and dislike for violence fall away as quickly as flipping a switch.

Blue optics flared near-white as Prime stood, his powerful frame trembling ever so slightly as Swoop fled with his burden.

"You look upset I just off-lined a Con," Megatron smirked, a look that was still on his face when Prime's short charge ended with a fist slamming squarely into it.

Megatron was thrown back, skidding to a stop several lengths away as the battle picked up around him, life returning to normal for the two armies. His smirk only widened as he stood in time to meet Prime's charge and his punch connected with his opponent's chest, cracking glass and bending metal with the combined force.

Though Prime grunted as air was force from his systems, he didn't register the pain as he kept his momentum going and slammed bodily into his opponent, taking them both to the ground. Punches were traded, Megatron no longer smirking as he struggled to dislodge the large mech straddling his pelvic girdle.

A particularly hard blow off-lined his optics briefly. On pure reflex he brought his cannon to bear on his attacker and fired. A detached part of his battle computer informed him it was a hit, yet the weight above him was still there, still raining powerful blows down on him.

When Megatron finally managed to reboot his optics the familiar face was wrong. He continued to strike, inflicting as much damage as he received, until his CPU clicked with what was different about Prime's battered face.

His optics.

Optimus Prime's optics glowed an insanely bright shade of crimson.

With a grunt Megatron grabbed his opponent and put all his strength into twisting, rolling them over so he could get to his feet.

"Decepticons, retreat!" he bellowed as he lunged to his feet and away from Prime. Warnings and damage reports scrolled by his vision as he launched in the air, but were immediately sidelined when he was pulled down to earth by a powerful hand on his pede. He _could_ fly with the extra weight, but only if he was ready for it.

He wasn't even remotely ready.

Prime just didn't fight once a retreat was called.

Surprise barely had time to fully register before Prime was on top of him again, his battle-ax activated and coming down.

Megatron raised his arm to grab Prime's forearm and block the strike and felt his servos nearly crack in objection to the force they had to counter. Yet Megatron, former gladiator, Decepticon Lord and _survivor_ , did not yield. He could not yield. He knew the look staring down at him. All the advanced social protocols that made Optimus Prime recognizable, merciful - _sentient_ \- were shut down or bypassed.

The Decepticon couldn't help but smile at this amazing accomplishment despite the warnings that he was weakening rapidly.

A guttural snarl greeted the change in Megatron's expression and Prime shifted his weight to strike with his free fist.

It was enough for Megatron to throw him off again, and a focused sonic blast kept him away long enough for the Decepticon Lord to make it out of Prime's reach.

"Optimus?" a low, soothing voice drew the enraged mech's attention away from his retreating target and the desire - why was he fighting it? - to follow the dripping energon trail the Decepticon left.

His attention turned to the blue, red and white mech walking cautiously towards him; Smokescreen, his sluggish CPU provided eventually. He could feel processor after processor boot and program after program load, gradually bringing him back to himself.

Smokescreen looked afraid - _of him_. Jazz looked sick. The Twins looked like they were debating between a processor crash and hero-worship. Prowl was missing, along with Ratchet and most of the medical staff. Everyone else seemed to be in various states of shock.

_What the Pit had happened?_

The last of his systems came on line and he reset his optics a couple times, struggling to prevent his own CPU from crashing at the hazy memory files it was presented.

"I am myself again," Optimus told Smokescreen quietly, shakily.

"Your axe, Sir..." Smokescreen flicked his gaze towards Prime's right arm and the energy weapon still there instead of a hand.

Optimus looked down, studying the glowing orange weapon blankly for a moment before he found the protocol to make the change.

"He's in medbay," Smokescreen continued as he motioned his leader to follow him towards the Ark's entrance. "Where you should be. No one else was seriously injured."

"Thank you," Optimus said numbly. Despite his processors being fully on line, at least according to the readouts, he couldn't find it in himself to think.

"Berth." Ratchet's single word and pointed finger were all the greeting the pair received when they entered the medic's domain, and Optimus obeyed without a word.

Smokescreen hesitated a moment before retreating from medbay, leaving Optimus to watch Ratchet, Wheeljack, Perceptor, Swoop and First Aid work on his lover.

How strange, to be able to admit it so freely, even in his own mind.

The CMO was cursing up a storm as he dealt with Starscream's battered torso. Wheeljack was muttering to himself in technical jargon that was well beyond anyone else in the room as he tended to crafting replacement parts with a silent Perceptor. First Aid muttered quietly to himself as he replaced Starscream's optics. Swoop was relegated to the non-critical damage of the legs, but he was working fast and intensely.

It was Ratchet's cursing that allowed Optimus to slip into a recharge boarding on stasis.

Cursing meant it was bad, but silence ... with silence there was no hope. As long as the medic kept cursing there was hope.

* * *

Optimus Prime on-lined gradually. His body ached from extensive repairs and his processor was screaming at him from the pain of a complete deep code scan and defrag. He should be grateful he didn't on-line in the brig, but it still irked him that someone - Prowl and Jazz most likely - thought it necessarily to ensure _the Prime_ wasn't being influenced by rouge programming.

Harsh vocals nearby drew his attention before he powered up his optics.

"If he was any other mech..." Jazz hissed, cold and furious in a way Prime didn't want to contemplate.

"That is the point. He is _not_ any other mech." Prowl said, calm and controlled as always, but no less furious given his tone.

Optimus quietly prayed to Primus that the SIC could control his bonded's reaction. Jazz was the best at what he did, from unofficial moral officer to social organizer to assassin. He wasn't sure why, but he had expected the most trouble from Prowl and Red Alert. Jazz ... he'd rather expected the Intel officer to take it in stride.

That he's judged the SpecOp commander so wrong settled very uneasily in his tanks.

"How's Red?" Ironhide asked somewhere between distressed and determined.

"He'll recover," a very grim, subdued Ratchet responded.

"How are _you_?" Ironhide asked someone.

"Fine." Prowl nearly growled. He'd probably been asked that by every mech he'd met since he woke up.

Optimus winced. His lack of a denial on the battlefield that Starscream was his lover had no doubt caused the tactician to crash, hard.

"He's awake," Ratchet spoke up.

Optimus brought his optics on-line and sat up on the berth cautiously. He surveyed the gathered mechs; Prowl, Jazz, Ironhide and Ratchet. None of them looked pleased. He couldn't blame them.

"I expect you want an explanation," he spoke calmly.

"You're Pit right we do," Jazz snarled and moved to take a step forward but was stopped by Prowl's hand on his shoulder.

"Yes," Prowl's voice was absolutely even, but his door-wings were high and flared in both distress and anger, bordering on a threat.

"He was defecting," I begin with the bit of information that might just keep the rage around me in check. I knew they'd be angry, but Primus, I had no idea I was courting the level of betrayal expressed here when I began to court Starscream for the Autobots.

"At what point were you going to tell _us_?" Jazz hissed.

I pin him with my best _I Am The Prime_ look and feel a little better when he stands down, at least a little. It means he's not a lost cause yet.

"When I knew when he would be joining us," I answer the question with as much calm, _things were under control_ manner as I can in the face of my senior officers. "It would have changed the balance of power completely if he brought the Seekers to us."

There! I have Prowl.

Jazz abruptly whirls around to glare at him, his entire body taunt. They lock optics and I can all but _feel_ their bond thick with communication, emotions and the argument of logic and tactical against emotions too raw to respond to them calmly.

While they argue silently, I fix Ratchet with a look. He huffs, grumbles and glares back. "He'll fly again."

I feel most of the tension bleed from my frame. He'll fly again. Not live, but fly. Ratchet knows Seeker priorities.

I watch as Jazz shudders, dropping his visor's gaze down in a visible sign of surrender. I doubt anyone believes it's over, but for now, Prowl's won.

Ratchet looks around, humphs and promptly orders everyone out.


End file.
